Someday
by RainyDays-and-DayDreams
Summary: Sherlock and John are like two substances that should in no way be in close proximity to each other- but they fall in love, and when one dies, the other's world falls apart. EXTREME ANGST. SUICIDE/ REFERENCES TO DRUG USE. MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHS. Johnlock. Rated T for violence, NOT smut. Based of the song "Someday" by The Strokes. I apologize for any sad feelings I may cause.


_A/N:_**_ So, this thing called school happened and I haven't been writng nearly as much as I want or need to. The idea for this story struck a few days ago when I was listening to "Someday" by The Strokes after a bout of sadness. How the connection between the song and this story formed, I have no idea, but that's what happened. This story is extremely angsty, and isn't very happy at all. Also, I'd like to thank everyone who has reviewed, favorited, or followed my stories. I always grin like a madwoman every time someone leaves a nice review or follows or favorites. I couldn't do this without you guys. _**

**_WARNINGS: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, SUICIDE, REFERENCES TO DRUG USE_**

**_DISCLAIMER: The only thing I own is this story idea. The characters all belong to the BBC, and the original characters all came from the brilliant Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.  
_**

* * *

_"In many ways_

_They'll miss the good old days_

_Someday, someday_

_Yeah, it hurts to say, but I want you to stay_

_Sometimes, sometimes_

_When we was young, oh man did we have fun_

_Always, always_

_Promises, they break before they're made_

_Sometimes, sometimes_

_Oh, my ex says I'm lacking in depth_

_I will do my best_

_You say you wanna stay by my side_

_Darlin', you're head's not right_

_See, alone we stand and together we fall apart_

_Yeah, I'll think I'll be alright_

_I'm working so I won't have to try so hard_

_Tables they turn sometimes_

_Oh someday..._

_No I ain't wasting no more time_

_And now my fears_

_They come to me in threes_

_So I, sometimes,_

_Say, "Fate, my friend,_

_You say the strangest things,_

_I find, sometimes"_

_Oh, my ex says I'm lacking in depth_

_Say I will try my best_

_You say you want to stay by my side_

_Darlin', you're head's not right_

_See, alone we stand and together we fall apart_

_Yeah, I'll think I'll be alright_

_I'm working so I won't have to try so hard_

_Tables, they turn sometimes_

_Oh someday..._

_No I ain't wasting no more time"_

_-Someday, The Strokes_

* * *

John walked up the stairs to 221B, muttering under his breath. He should've known when he began dating an artist that she would find a ridiculous way to break up with him, but really, what did "lacking depth" even mean? John thought that while he wasn't the most complex person, he certainly had enough interesting quirks and traits to make Sherlock stick around... Sherlock. Why did his mind always go back to Sherlock? Speaking of Sherlock, he was lying on the couch, hands in his typical prayer position, which meant he was thinking as John walled through the door. He made no sign that he was even aware of John's return. John sighed, rather loudly he thought. When this did nothing to wake the man, he slammed the door. Sherlock shot up like a bullet, eyes widened with slight alarm, looking for what had caused the noise. "Oh," he said. "Hello, John. Date didn't go well, I assume? No, wait-" he interrupted as John was about to speak. "You're back a half hour early, which means that it didn't go well at all. Also, there is mud splatter on your shows and trousers from the nearby park, meaning you took a walk. A long one, judging by the amount. She broke up with you then. I'm sorry." John shook his head, bewildered. "Right as always, Sherlock. And- wait- did you just apologize to me?" Sherlock looked at John, one eyebrow raised, head tilted slightly to the side. "Of course I did," he said. "That is the proper social protocol when a friend loses his significant other, is it not?" John felt himself snort. "Yes, Sherlock, it is. Well done. I'm off to take a shower." Just as he was about to turn around and walk off, he thought he heard Sherlock's voice, much quieter than usual, say, "I would stay by your side."

"Sherlock?" John breathed. He turned around, slowly. He saw Sherlock, his infuriating, brilliant, slightly sociopathic genius best friend and flatmate, staring at him intently. "What- what do you mean?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow, eyes glimmering tauntingly at John. "Come now, John, surely you can figure it out." John breathed heavily through his nose. No, this wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. This was Sherlock Holmes. Almost the polar opposite of him. Or, if not opposites, then two things that should in no way be in a romantic situation. Like fire and gasoline. "What- what did you say?" John whispers. "I'd be there for you," is all he says. But John walks closer to him, and holds his hand. "Alone we stand and together we fall apart," he whispers. "But I don't want to stand if it's without you." John shudders as he knows what he's going to say next. "I don't care if you tear me apart, Sherlock," John says. "I need you." And Sherlock gives him one raised eyebrow, one half second of confusion before he catches on and then he's kissing him and oh god does it feel good. He wraps his hand in John's hair, and one arm around his waist, and John repeats the gesture. His fingers twine into his skull, and John feels himself moan with longing. This is too fast, too fast, this shouldn't happening, this isn't right, but why does it feels so good? A moth is drawn to flame, he supposes, even though it will be burned up eventually. But the flash, as it burns, is one of the most beautiful things it will ever feel. So he lets this happen. And he knows he's the moth, but he lets it happen anyways. And they are in Sherlock's room, and he takes his clothes off, and they're in bed, and then they are one.

* * *

Sherlock stares at the three graves in front of him and feels a bubble of hysteria crawl up his throat. Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, John... John. They weren't supposed to die like this. Not at the hands of a stupid criminal who didn't even have the IQ to try and hold them as hostages. No, he'd just killed them. And let Sherlock find the bodies. Sherlock remembers that day, and feels again the desperate hope that they'd still he alive, the shot to the gut that had been the crushing of that hope, an icy razor of pain that was horror, and then the gurgling acid that ate him alive that was grief. He feels the gurgling acid now, slowly eating through his heart, his brain, his body. He hasn't stopped feeling it since then. He kneels down in front of their graves, and whispers softly to each of them. "Greg," he says. "You... You helped me through the worst time of my life, and you always believed in me. You were always a friend, even though it took me far longer to realize it than it should have. You... I will always be your friend. Always." Sherlock feels the tears begin to bubble up, but that can't happen here, not now. "Mrs. Hudson," he says next. "You were like a mother to me. You always..." Sherlock has to take a moment and take a breath. He can feel the tears leaking out of his eyes, and looks at the cold grey sky. So much for not crying. "Mrs. Hudson," he says again, "You were never just our landlady. Or our housekeeper. You are- were- my friend, and I'll never stop owing you for that." Sherlock tries to hold back a choked sob, and fails. The tears form lines on his face, and he doesn't bother wiping them off. The acid is now a knife, and it twists in his chest. What was it that Mycroft says? "Caring is not an advantage"? He may have been right, but Sherlock had cared about these three, and he'd paid the price by having them ripped away from him. "John," Sherlock gasps out. "There are so many things I can't tell you now. But... But... You were my friend when no one wanted to anything to do with me. I fell in love with you the day we met, and it is the cruelest trick of fate that we only got to spend two months of all the years we've known each other aware of our feelings. You are the first and only person I've ever loved, and I can't live without you. You said once that we couldn't be together... But things change. They change so much. At one point, maybe we would have torn each other apart. But now I can't stand alone." Sherlock let out a sob and pulled John's pistol out of his pocket. "I drank some poison before I came here, just in case I got scared. But I'm not scared. I just want to be with you... With all of you... Again. I tried to go on, I did. I took cases, I even took up smoking, and then drugs again out of desperation. But the pitying looks people give me are driving me insane, and nothing, nothing, will ever fill the holes you left in me. Life no longer holds my interest." Sherlock turned the safety off on the gun, and turned it over, looking at it, examining it. His tears made his vision a little blurry, but he could still see it. "I can't live anymore," Sherlock says quietly, done crying. He had seen John and Lestrade and even Mrs. Hudson face death calmly before, and now he would. Sherlock delicately put the gun against his chin. "I'm not wasting any more time." Sherlock takes one last look around. He thinks he sees somebody running towards him. He better hurry then. He sighs, smiles, feels a tear leak down his cheek one last time, and pulls the trigger.

Or he almost does. "Sherlock, what are you doing?!" an angry, but slightly warped voice yells. Sherlock is beginning to feel the effects of the poison he took earlier. He looks up, vision slightly blurred, to see a silvery figure that is most definitely John. "Hallucination," Sherlock thinks. Still, he doesn't see the point in not talking to him.

"I'm going to see you again." A thought strikes Sherlock. "Are you a hallucination, like I think you are? Or are you an angel?"

John ignores him. "Stay alive, Sherlock. For Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade and me. You can't die like this."

Sherlock is angry now. "I am going to die now, one way or another. And you can't stop me." He puts the gun underneath his chin again and pulls the trigger, ignoring a screamed "No!"

* * *

_"Why would you do this Sherlock?"_

_"Because I had to see you again."_

_"You weren't supposed to die like this."_

_"Neither were you."_

_Silence for a moment. "Fine, you daft git. Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade are upset with you as well."_

_"Are they up there?"_

_A swallow. "Yes. And they're waiting."_

_"Let's not keep them waiting then, shall we?"_

_"Sherlock?"_

_"Yes, John?" _

_"I missed you. We missed you."_

_A grabbed hand, a soft kiss. A soft voice saying, "Me too."_

_Then two lone silvery figures walking down a tunnel into a light, leaving a lone, beautiful and cold piece of transport that once held an amazing soul in front of three graves._

* * *

The papers go crazy for a long time. "A Tragic End to the Baker Street Team", they read. They tell of their deaths, and how the world has never seen a more brilliant team. From far above, Sherlock and the others gently laugh. They weren't happy Sherlock was there early, but what was done was done. And the tabloids were right in one respect- their utterly insignificant planet, with its incredibly primitive and idiotic life forms, had never seen a team or friendship or love so strong, and they never would again.

* * *

_**a/n: Like I said, not happy in the slightest. I originally intended for this to be a one shot, but I hate the way I ended this. I mean, who doesn't? I got depressed, and in a misplaced fit of retaliation killed off almost every single character in the show, without even mentioning what was happening to the characters. So when inspiration hits, I will come up with a continuation for this... Hopefully with no more deaths. Also, while I highly doubt such a person exists, if anyone who reads this also reads my other works, including my friend and I's Percy Jackson/ Sherlock crossover, fear not, an update is coming soon! What happens is my genius friend and writing partner came up with an absolutely amazing chapter that I have no idea how to continue. Because how can I follow up something that brilliant? Also, I am writing other stories, with much happier endings, that I will hopefully post soon. And now I'm pretty much just rambling. So goodnight, dear readers. Goodnight. I send my love to you all.**_


End file.
